
Book J?,6"PC 



poE/ns 






. BY 



Daniel Batchelor. 



PRINTED FOR PRIVATE DISTRIBUTION. 



UTICA. N. Y. 

1894. 



Press of L. C. Childs & Son. 



^c^\^\- 



DANIEL BATCHELOR, who recently passed 
away, was a familiar figure in Utica for more 
than half a century. He Avas a man of intelli 
gence, a good citizen, a faithful and loving friend. 
Pleasant it was to meet him on the street, yoii were sure 
of some pleasantry or a cheerful salutation. He was a 
keen observer, and an interesting talker. 

" In the love of Nature he held communion with her 
visible forms," and to him "she had a voice of gladness," 
for he loved all things beautiful, especially trees, flowers 
and little children. 

Mr. Batchelor was nearly the last of a group of anti- 
slavery men who often met for converse and friendly 
discussion by the evening lamp in a shop on Genesee 
street during ante-bellum times and long afterwards. 
One by one have left us, 

* * * * " All are departed." 
" Gone, all are gone, the old familiar faces." 

This little volume of poems written by Mr. Batchelor 

at intervals during a busy life, was intended by him for 

distribution only among his own descendants and a few 

friends. The copy he handed to the printer a few daj-s 

before his death, without tit|e or preface. 

'* '. .' ^^'- '^• 

Utica, January 24, fSg^." 



CONTENTS. 



The Shepherd's Dying Request, ... 5 

Early Bird Catches the Worm — Sometimes, . 6 

My Mother's Home, .... 7 

Toasts for Labor, . . . ' . .8 

Out with Him, ..... g 

A Flower Plucked on the Spot where Warren Fell, lo 

Repetition, . . . . . . ii 

To Erastus Clark, . . . . . 12 

School Hymn, . . . . -13 

Outward Bound, . . . . . 14 

Hoist the Flag, . . . ■ 15 
Written for the Shakespeare Tercentennial — 1SC4, 17 

Burns' Centennial Day, . . . . 18 

Song, . . . . .20 

A Free Chant, . . . . . 21 

The Mohawk River, . . . .22 

The Ship of State, . . . . 25 

Acrostic, . . , . . .26 

Stanzas from an Old Ode, ... 27 
Garden Talk, ...... 28 

Vox Populi, ..... 30 

John Arthur Roebuck, . . . -31 

Lines for the Times, • • • • 33 

•God Save the Republic, . . . -34 

They Never Fail who Die in a Great Cause, 35 

Despondency and Aspiration, . 36 

"I'll Sing Thy Glory," .... 37 

Babylon's Fallen, . . . . -38 

Respectfully Inscribed to the Free-Lovers, . 39 



. CONTEA'TS. 

The Hour Has Struck, . . . -40 

The Queen of Song, .... 42 

Grant Shall Take the Chair, . . . -42 

Song, ...... 44 

"Hush, Repiner, Nature Listens," . . -45 
Lines Suggested by the Death of G. S. Dana, Esq., 47 

Italy, ...... 48 

Conjugal, . . . . . -49 

Labra, ...... 50 

An Old Fellow's Valentine, . . . -51 

Jocund Health, ..... 52 

Something Hatched Out, . . . -54 

Trenton Falls, . . . . . 58 

Carpe Diem, . . . . . -59 

Chemistry of the Sunbeam, ... 61 

Twilight Hour, . . . . .62 

What is She Like ? .... 63 

What is Love Like ? . . . . .64 

October, ...... 65 

The Cockney, . . ■ : • . .66 

This Morning— March 27, 1S6S. ... 70 

Discovered, . . . . -71 

September Sunset, • ■ ■ • 73 

Moonlight, . . . . . -75 

Lines on the Death of Mrs. Erastus Clark, . 76 

On an English Primrose, . . . -77 

Butler Memorial Hall, .... 78 



THE SHEPHERD'S DYING REQUEST, 

O, once more bear me to that spring 

Beneath the mossy rock, 
Where I have heard the linnet sing, 

And oft have led my flock : — 

Where I the pearly draughts have drank. 

In sultry summer day, 
And rambled o'er each primrose bank 

Along the gurgling way. 

O, once again could I behold 

And taste that limped stream, 
Of greater worth than shining gold 

I should the treasure deem. 

'Twas sweet to walk at early morn 

Its devious track along, 
To wake the lark from out the corn 

And hear her heavenly song. 

There blackbirds tune their earlier notes. 

And kine at eve resort ; 
Lambkins there cool their bleating throats, 

And silvery minnows sport. 
1^35- 



EARL]' BIRD CATCHES THE WORM— SOMETIMES. 



"EARLY BIRD CATCHES THE WORM"— 
SOMETIMES. 

'Tis early March, and bleak the morn, 
O birdie, crouching on the thorn, 

Vernal harbinger robin. 
The bloom that did thy breast adorn, 
By northern blasts is sadly torn ; 
Shrunk is thy crop, thy heart is throbbing ; 
Here, take this crumb, poor, starving robin. 

Why didst thou leave the sunny South 
To brave rude Boreas in the mouth. 

Hardy, advent'rous robin ? 
The streams are chained, stern winter's reign, 
Extends o'er hill, and wood, and plain ; 
Ice ribbed, the glebe, no grass for Dobbin ; 
No plough a-field ; no worm for robin. 

But jocund days will come e're long. 
And thou wilt sing thy liquid song, 

Blithesome, tumultuous robin ; 
Now frozen berries strain thy bill. 
But soon on cherries shalt thou fill ; 
And with thy mate and young hob-nobbing, 
Be prince of songsters then, cock-robin. 



MY MOTHER'S HOME. 



MY MOTHER'S HOME. 

My mother's home in Avondale, 

The cot amid the flowers ; 
The briery lane where woodbines trail 

Around the tangled bowers. 

The primrose paths, the cowslip leas, 

The dingles and the dells, 
Where laughing echo sways the breeze 

With sound from distant bells. 

Where Philomel enchants the night ; 

Where thrushes greet the dawn ; 
And larks at morn soar out of sight, 

From brake and daisy lawn. 

There English maids with milk-white brows, 

And cheeks that vie the rose, 
Run o'er the fields to call the cows, 

Where purple clover grows. 

My mother's home in Avondale, 

The cot amid the flowers ; 
The briery lane where woodbines trail 

Around the tangled bowers. 



TOASTS FOR LABOR. 



TOASTS FOR LABOR. 

Here's to the man with horny hand, 
Who tugs the breathing bellows ; 

Where anvils ring in every land, 
He's loved by all his fellows. 

Good cheer to him who goes a-field, 
And through the glebe is ploughing. 

Or with stout arm the axe doth wield, 
While ancient trees are bowing. 

Here's to the men who delve the mine, 

Or plough the stormy ocean, 
With those of every craft or line 

Who work with true devotion. 

Our love for her who toils in gloom 
Where cranks and wheels are clanking ; 

Bereft is she of Nature's bloom, 
Yet God in patience thanking. 

But not for him who sneers at toil. 
And shuns his share of labor : 

The knave who robs his native soil 
Whilst leaning on his neighbor. 



OUT WITH HIM. 

Here may this truth be taught on earth, 
Grow more and more in favor : 

There is no wealth but owes its birth 
To handicraft and labor. 

Here hail the founders of our wealth, 
The builders of the nation : • 

Ye know their worth, and to their health 
Now drink with acclamation. 



OUT WITH HIM. 

Strike now a blow at Northern chains, 

That bind the soul in slavery ; 
Here, North, where vaunted Freedom reigns, 
A tinge of color in the veins 

Is worse than vilest knavery. 

*' Out with the nigger from the school ! 
Out with him ! Close the portal !" 
Thus shout the impious mob who rule, 
Then turn and taunt him : "Cuffee, fool !" 
Is he not an immortal ? 

Christ died for man ; ye know the plan 

And scheme of the redemption ; 
Yet back you thrust the colored man, 
• Yourselves afore God's altar van. 
As if by "right preemption." 



lO FLOWER PLUCKED WHERE WARREN FELL. 

But He will " turn you out " at last, 

Into the realms infernal ; 
What time Truth blows her angry blast. 
And human power, like chaff is cast — 

Thrust back by the Eternal ! 

The above lines were suggested on reading an account of 
the refusal of a teacher, a woman, to receive a mulatto boy 
from the lower to the upper school, simply on account of 
his complexion. A majority of the commissioners voted 
to sustain the vixen in her decision. The case occurred in 
the ciiy of Cincinnati, O.. in the month of January, 1855. 



A FLOWER PLUCKED ON THE SPOT 
WHERE WARREN FELL. 

Emblem of peace, O silent flower, 

Dost know that on this spot 
Brave Warren fell, but would not cower 
Before the regal George's power, 

Or storm of shell and shot. 

Sweet buds like thee were sodden then ; 

Trampled in bloody mire 
Beneath the feet of baffled men, 
And those who came " again, again," 

To flash forth Freedom's fire. 



REPETITIOX. 

Emblem of hope, thine amber frill, 

Just seen above the sod, 
By far outvies in power and skill 
Man's lofty work, here on the hill. 

For thine wert made by God. 

Yon monument in time, shall fall. 

As falls all human power ; 
But their good fame, stern patriots all. 
Who rose to heed their country's call, 
Shall stand while blooms a flower. 
1849. 



REPETITION. 

Let he, the bard or sage, 

Immortal thoughts indite, 
To pass in power from age to age, 

Increasing more the light. 

Let he of fluent speech 

Give freedom's purest fire; 
His words shall pass from each to each, 

While son is taught by sire. 

Let he of master hand . 

Build up the lofty fane ; 
His fame shall pass from land to land. 

While empires wax and wane. 



TO ERASTUS CLARK. 



Let he who has one mite 
Yield that in faith to God ; 

'Twill pass in power to life and light 
When man and fame are clod. 



TO ERASTUS CLARK. 

Heaven touches earth for aye with radiant gifts 
Of rosy morns, of sunset glows and glancing moon- 
beams 
That from hill, tree-top or lake translucent, 
Send silent soothings to the heart of man. 
Until it with delight o'et flows and throbs 
In pulsing rythm with the great soul of Nature. 
But O, my friend, of all the sweet delights 
That twine their purple tendrils round the heart. 
None have a firmer hold than the soft limbs 
And velvet hand of a dear, darling boy. 
Just conscious of each growing sense. 

Thou knowest it well, 
For such an one in robust lambent health 
Rolls on thy hearth ; his knees like golden pippins ; 
His laughing cheek plump as a Bolmar plumb ; 
His brimful sapphire eyes, well set apart, 
Throw back his golden hair. Look in those orbs, 
Look calmly in their depths cerulean ; 



SCHOOL HYMN. 

They are the ways of beauty to the soul, 
And soon athwart each pearly marge reflexed, 
Shall pass the good and bad in full review. 
What time he tempt the hill of reason, 
Then he will turn enquiring to thy face. 
Heaven help thee aid him to discriminate. 



SCHOOL HYMN. 

Let children sing the praise of Him 
Who spread the spacious sky, 

And brought the world from chaos dim 
With all the stars on high. 

He gave the sun his genial flame — 

The moon her glorious birth : 
At his command the ocean came 

And rolled around the earth. 

He formed the hills and mountains grand, 
And made the trees and flowers, 

With all that swim, that walk the land, 
Or warble in the bowers. 

To man he gave an angel's face, 

As lord of all the scene ; 
A child of love, the choice of grace, 

An heir of heaven seaene. 



14 



OUTWARD BOUXD. 

Yet serpent sin found willing man, 

And bound him as a slave; 
Then Jesus came with Heaven's own plan^ 

Our fallen race to save. 

And he will bless young children now, 

From his high place above, 
If we in prayer do humbly bow, 

And seek the Saviour's love. 



OUTWARD BOUND. 

Down through the bay, against the tide, 

And booming at the breeze, 
Our steady steamship goes to ride 

Straight o'er the rampant seas. 

Dear land! good bye, and dearest friends, 

Now gathered on the height ; 
I feel the kisses each one sends. 

Like sunbeams on me, light. 

It tingles all my hfe-blood through, 

To see amid that band, 
A kerchief, waving Jove's adieu, 

Held by a gentle hand. 



HOIST THE FLAG. 

I signal back, but am I seen, 
Here on the crowded deck ? 

For as we hurry from the scene, 
Our ship is but a speck — 

A spot out on the ocean vast, 
At which her eyes will strain,' 

'Till we the watery rim have passed. 
And she will look in vain. 

But not in vain, for her blue eyes 

Will journey on with me 
O'er sea and land, two welcome spies, 

Aye gazing tenderly. 

E es that will surely call me back, 
As Heaven shall give me life. 

Again in that green vale to roam. 
Where dwells my darling wife. 



15 



HOIST THE FLAG. 

Our country gives the potent word, 

" Repel the daring foe !" 
He comes with fire — he comes with sword, 

Our land to whelm in woe. 



1 6 HOIST THE FLAG. 

Then hoist the flag, the stout staff grip, 
Let the proud banner dance ; 

Though to the foe it ne'er shall dip, 
'T will drop at beauty's glance. 

Love hovered when that flag was wrought 

And given to our hands ; 
To bear it well when closer brought 

To the invading bands. 

Then hoist the flag, &c. 

See ! See ! They come in dire array ; 

They halt to form the line; 
Now hurl them back and bring this day, 

Our spoils to Freedom's shrine. 

Then hoist the flag, &c. 

Our country's honor is the law 
That moves our close phalanx ; 

For hearth and home the sword we draw ; 
Inspired, we charge their ranks. 

Then hoist the flag, &;c. 
Set to music by Prof.Shaw and sung by the U. C. C/ 



WRITTEN FOR SHAKESPEARE TERCENTENNIAL, j-y 



WRITTEN FOR THE SHAKESPEARE 
TERCENTENNIAL— 1864. 

Hail sons of England now, 

On Avon, Tay or Tweed, 
Or 'round the world, by sea and land, 

We bid you all " God speed," 
For this is Shakespeare's natal day. 

So let each bosom thrill 
With pride to know our native isle 

Gave birth to "Glorious Will." 

The mightiest of the names 

Ihat shine on England's ro'l, 
His fame is like her potent sway 

That sweeps from pole to pole. 
The language of his master mind 

Shall penetrate each age, 
'Till half the world, in English speech. 

May read his peerless page. 

Three hundred years have passed 

Since that immortal birth 
Which gave to light the kingliest man 

That ever trod the earth ; 
And still he walks, in league with Time, 

To sway the coming throng 
Of nations, and of peoples vast. 

With his majestic song ! [b 



1 8 BURNS' CENTENNIAL DAY. 



BURNS' CENTENNIAL DAY. 

Her bonnet blue let Scotia don 

On this centennial day, 
For now a hundred years are gone 

Since first a morning ray 
Beamed in on his cherubic face, 

Who to her fame has sung 
Songs that will move the human race 

While earth to Heaven is swung ! 

For auld lang syne her sons now band 

In mansion, camp or cot, 
From Orkney Isles to India's strand, 

Or where may be their lot ; 
On land or sea, in peace or strife, 

Wherever duty leads, 
Their hearts are stirred to quicker life, 

Their souls to loftier deeds. 

And proud are they to speak of him 

Who stood behind the plow 
At morn, when lingering stars were dim, 

And made a youthful vow 
To sing the mem'ries of the land 

That gave the Bruce his birth ; 
The land of glen and mountain grand. 

Wild loch and booming firth. 



BURNS-' CENTENNIAL DAY. 

But yet, O Scotsmen, all the world 

Reveres your poet's name, 
For he at " stern oppression " hurl'd, 

With quick and certain aim, 
Like lightning shafts, his living words 

To penetrate each age 
With keener points than Highlarid swords, 

When clansmen battle wage. 

Yes, o'er the world this day may sing 

Free men, in every clime, 
For they are free whom priest nor king, 

Can urge from truth sublime. 
Not Scots alone, but all who dare 

Meet haughty power with spurns ; 
Aye, such as these may well declare 

Their love for Robert Burns. 

His memory then, as babe and boy, 

As man and mighty bard, 
The songs that speak the cotters' joy 

And freedom's great reward : 
That independent life which needs 

No proud memorial urns, 
Nor graven brass to mark the meeds 

Of our dear Robert Burns. 



19 



20 



SONG. 



SONG. 

Around thy belt old ocean leaps, 

O mother England dear ! 
Freedom with thee a watch-tower keeps 

To see the coast is clear. 
What says she from her beacon height, 

Now to her chosen ones ? 
" Your warlike weapons burnish bright 

And double-shot your guns." 

Bring out your ships from dock and bay, 

And lash the seas to foam ; 
Keep watch and ward, by night and day 

Around your island home, 
Call home your veterans from the east. 

Your sailors o'er the. world; 
Be ready, peasant, peer and priest, 

When the red bolt is hurled. 

Behold, a foe, in friendly guise. 

Holds out to you his hand ; 
Fury behind him lurking ^lies. 

To throw his blazing brand ! 



A FREE CHANT. 

And soon will hurl the fiery shaft, 
With all his strength a-niain ! 

See that you're trim both fore and aft, 
To sweep through the red rain. 

One spirit in your counsels now, 

One voice throughout the land, 
One voice to heaven, one only vow, 

Against the foe to stand ! 
Against the foe for England's sake, 

The Queen and common weal, 
Brave Britons now your weapons take, 

Your hearts are true as steel. 



A FREE CHANT. 

O welcome the fire pure and fervent, 
That glows to the welding white heat 

Right welcome the master or servant 
Who yield us the weapons complete 

To cut down the tares and the thistles 
That grow in the garden of God : 

Where boldly a noisome crop bristles 
To cumber and plunder the sod. 



; THE MOHAWK RIVER. 

We'll cut them down now in the seeding, 

Ere yet it flies out on the air 
In myriads, to lodge and be breeding 

On Freedom's young pastures so fair. 

See ! there grows a vile plant, the rankest, 
Tainting leagues of the soil and the sea ! 

The roots under running, the darkest 
That thrive in the " Land of the Free." 

'Tis slavery, here struggling and stunted, 
There strong as a banyan, we see ; 

Sharp axes have often been blunted 
While smiting the sturdy old tree. 

But truth tempered tools are still forging 

Bright spade, and stout wedge for the helve ; 

Now, at the old trunk they are charging, 
And down to the roots they will delve. 



THE MOHAWK RIVER. 

Is there no bard that wears the bays. 
Whose words hke harp-tones quiver, 

Will yield to thee a note of praise, 
My gentle Mohawk River V 



THE MOHA WK RIVER. 2 2 

My river, sing thine undertone, 

Soft as a low south wind 
That down a leaf strewn dell makes moan, 

When autumn days are kind. 

Thine is an hey-dey youthful life; 

Yet underneath the plough 
Old empires went — unknown their strife — 

And thou wert then as now. 

Than thee, has Tiber longer rolled 

His torrent to the sea ? 
Are not thy sources full as old, 

As constant and as free ? 

Have not the sun, the moon and stars, 

Through ages on thee shone ? 
Have not whole oceans passed thy bars, 

Yea, all through thee have flown ! 

There's not a drop in clouds or seas. 

In cave or fountain deeps, 
But it has sped, past forest trees, 

Along thy banks and steeps. 

Adown thy course, with lavish hands, 

Kind nature's gifts are thrown : 
Sweet sunny slopes, fat meadow lands, 
■ And mounts to eagles known. 



24 



THE MOHAWK RIVER. 

Here sweet the paths with tedded hay, 

Or later sprouting grass, 
Or dappled autumn leaves, at play, 

Like elves in tumbling mass. 

Here scented ferns in many nooks. 

Bend down to lilies blue ; 
That nod in files, where entering brooks, 

Song murmurs whisper through. 

Here winking violets love to blow, 

The firstlings of the spring. 
And here the latest asters grow. 

The latest robins sing. 

Alone I walk the devious track. 

In love with every scene ; 
The sinking sun now warns me back 

To where the spires are seen. 

There crowds do pace the dusty street. 

All heedless of my river, — 
His bowery banks and waters sweet, 

The song he sings forever. 



THE SHIP OF STATE. 



25 



THE SHIP OF STATE. 

Will then no proud centennial morn 
Dawn on these federate States ? 

And must the golden web be torn, 
Or severed by the Fates ? 

Are there no men of kingly might, 
Like Clay and his compeers, 

To guide the Ship of State to-night, 
While she the head-land clears? 

For sure 'tis night — stormy and black ; 

Yet lights are in the bow, 
To show the perils on the tack 

Where leaps our gallant prow. 

There's faction's luggage in the hold ; 

She cannot keep her trim I 
The helmsman's hand is crampt and cold, 

His eyes are weak and dim ! 

Up, patriots, then, true to the core, 

The storm is but a breeze ; 
If you will hurl your idols o'er — 

Grasp helm and breast the seas. 



26 ACROSTIC. 

Then we shall see centennial morn, 

And turn the hand of Fate, 

For coming millions yet unborn, 

To bless the Ship of State ! 
iSdo. 



ACROSTIC. 



Reflective soul, by wisdom won 
Art thou delib'rate Emerson; 
Lofty thy genius and serene ; 
Pure ether only is between 
High vortex and thy vision keen. 

Whatever truth to earth has brought, 
And from her highest stations taught. 
Lies out before thee on a plain. 
Distinct and clear as the bright train 
Of solar stars in night's domain. 

E'en as Mont Blanc's tall cones arise 
Majestic to the morning skies, 
Ever, from that supernal height, 
Reaching to dawns of rosy light, 
So thy great thoughts go up to scan 
Omnific power, and gauge the plan 
Nature displays to daring man. 



STANZAS FROM AN OLD ODE. 



27 



STANZAS FROM AN OLD ODE. 



ADAPTED TO THE TEMPER OF THE PRESENT TIME. 



Who trembling in the White House dwells, 
And sits in Jackson's chair, 

Scorned by the States ? At such a time 

When dullest ears may hear the chime 

Of coming thunders — when dark skie? 

Are writ with crimson prophecies, 

A wise man should be there ! 

A man of nerve, whose life might be 

The living logic of the sea ; 

One quick to know and keen to feel — 

A fervid man, and full of zeal 

Should sit in Jackson's chair ! 

Alas ! no fervid man is there, 

No earnest, honest heart ; 

But one, though dressed in patriot guise, 

Looks on the storm with timid eyes ; 

One who can trim a summer's sail 

Or ride a diplomatic gale. 

And knows no deeper art ; 



2g GARDEN TALK. 

One who can dally with smooth word, 
Where he should thrust the nation's sword ! 
No man is he to hold the helm 
When rude winds blow, and wild waves whelm 
And creaking timbers start. 



GARDEN TALK. 

O full of faith, blue hyacinth, 

Thou pushest up thy cone, 
Well knowing that with May's sweet breath 

Thy petals will be blown. 

The snows are lingering in the clefts. 

Yet Robin bids thee come, 
I'he baffled bee floats over thee 

With an impatient hum. 

Welcome, O hardy Northern flower, 

Full sentient to the Spring; 
Alt sentient to my country's voice? 

Dost hear her soldiers sing? 

Did Sumter's fall, by traitor guns, 

Dis'urb thy vernal dreams ? 
Dost feel the glowing pentecost 

That o'er our northland beams ? 



GARDEN TALK. 

- Hast heard how Boston's marching men 
Were slain in Baltimore ? 
And how their blood boils up in pools 
By every patriot's door ? 

Ah, gracious Heaven ! my little flower, 

I wander wide from thee, 
And see the red avenging host. 

Who strike for liberty! — 

The whirling of the cannon wheels, 

The roll tap on the drum, 
The glistening lines of flashing steel, 

The hurling of the bomb ! — 

The welt'ring gap, the serried close : 
The stern, unflinching square : — 

Our glorious banner borne aloft, 
And victory perching there! 

My little flower, when treason, dead, 

Lies rotting in the earth, 
No snow or rain will e'er again 

Bring it to second birth. 

But thou wilt die and rise anew 

In beauty with the year, 
To deck the coming victor's brow 

While thronging myriads cheer. 



29 



30 



vox POPULI. 



VOX POPULI. 



Air — '^ Ellen Bain. 



Raise now your voices, 

Sons of the free ; 
You are resistless 

As is the sea! 
Send forth your fiat, 

And it is done! 
Millions in earnest 
Move ye as one! 
Freedom's standard then shall soar; 

Shaming all who would enslave, 
Lincoln bearing it before, 
Lincoln the brave. 

Heed not the traitors, — 
Heed not their scorn ; 

Who are but flouting 
Freedom's bright morn : 

They threat to sunder 
Our flag of stars ! 



JOHN ARTHUR ROEBUCK. 

So may they threaten 
Neptune or Mars ! 
Freedom's standard then shall soar ; 

Shaming all who would enslave, 
Lincoln bearing it before, 
Lincoln the brave. 

Onward undaunted, 
Upward for right ; 
Nations, through ages, 
Will see your light : 
Anew, now declare, 
And it is done, — 
" All men are equal 
Under the sun !" 
Freedom's standard then shall soar; 

Shaming all who would enslave, 
Lincoln bearing it before, 
Lincoln the brave. 



31 



JOHN ARTHUR ROEBUCK. 

Who were " the scum of Europe " when 
You stood, with screaming voice, 

And called on Bath's stout working-men 
To make of you their choice ? 



, 2 JOHN ARTHUR R OEB UCK. 

I saw a " ten-pound-renter '' then 

Give you a " Plumper " vote, 
Heedless though Powerscourt and his men 

Held out the bribing note. 

That time you praised " Fair Freedom's Land ;" 

I heard you, too, I swear ; 
Now, you fling forth your puny brand, 

And fain our flag would tear. 

I, sir, am with " the scum," just now, 

Cursing your knavish heart. 
And glad would see your body plough 

Behind a Tyburn cart ! 

What are you, man ? You've gone the round, 

As Burdett did before ; 
Your life with disappointment crowned ; 

A litde screeching bore. 

I know not if 'tis Sheffield sends 

You to St. Stephen's Hall ; 
If so, the Corn-Law-Rhymer's friends 

Should sound a stern recall, 

And bring you back, or cut you down 

With a strong Elliott blade. 
You pandering pimp, you shufflmg clown, 

You heartless renegade ! 



LINES FOR THE TIMES. 



Z3 



LINES FOR THE TIMES. 

Speak, Lincoln, to the people speak, 

And let thy language not be weak ; 

From Jackson's chair give Jackson's ire, 

In words that burn like flashing fire. 

To blast the traitors in our land 

Where'er they be, how'er they band. 

Wield now the nation's mighty wrath. 

While Justice hews herself a path 

Straight through the hearts of fiendish knaves 

Who fain would make us all their slaves ! 

Heaven offers thee this very hour 

The lightnings of Olympian power ! 

Take then the gift and show the world 

That slavery from its throne is hurled ; 

So shall the children yet unborn, 

Fiom age to age thy tomb adorn. 

And pilgrims meet around thy dust, 

Where lives a man to love the just. 



34 



aOD fiAVE THE REPUBLIC. 



GOD SAVE THE REPUBLIC. 

Come let us pledge with lifted hands, 

And strike from shore to shore ; 
Resolved to die, or rid our lands 

Of traitors steeped in gore ! 
We fight for those we cherish here. 

And for our sacred dead, 
Who gave their lives and all most dear, 

And fell on " honor's bed !" 

They, at their country's holy call, 

Sprang with elastic bound ; 
They fell, as noble heroes fall, 

And hallowed all the ground ; 
Shall we dispute about the cause 

That led them to the strife ? 
Nay, let us vindicate the laws 

And save the nation's life ? 

One spirit in our councils now, 

One voice throughout the land. 
One voice to heaven, one only vow, 

Against the foe to stand ! 
Against the foe for Freedom's sake. 

And for the common weal ; 
Come, brethren, now your weapons take 

With hearts as true as steel ! 



THEY NEVER FAIL WHO DIE IN A GREAT CAUSE. 



35 



THEY NEVER FAIL WHO DIE IN A GREAT 

CAUSE." 

♦■ 

He of the proud electric name 
Has passed through slander's lurid flame, 
And like the silent diamond's light 
His virtue shines more purely bright, 
Heedless, though Faction's blasting breath, 
Blew up the fire and sought his death ; 
Heedless of all save Heaven's command 
And the strong faith that this dear land, 
Its tribes and kindred, every one, 
Will yet believe in Washington, 
And speak the truths our fathers spoke 
When they threw off King George's yoke. 
Hail, Soldier, Hail ! On Freedom's path 
Go then to wield a people's wrath ; 
E'en as thy virtues foiled thy foes, 
Shall traitors fall beneath thy blows : 
Our country's love thy fame shall keep. 
When her wide wounds have ceased to weep ; 
And age on age, by many a font, 
Sponsers will give thy name — Fremont ! 



36 



DESPOND K.WY AND ASPIRATION. 



' DESPONDENCY AND ASPIRATION." 

What though we fall down in the dust 

Before thine awful throne, 
O, God Almighty, ever just, 

We cannot thus atone ! 
Our sins rise up in mountains vast — 

They stretch across our path, 
While through them blows a bitter blast 

Of thy most righteous wrath. 
Now here, now there, we rush and try, 

But spend our strength in vain, 
Till from the nation comes a cry 

Wrung out by burning pain : 
" Heaven help us in our dire distress ; 

Do we not fast and pray 
That Thou our banded arms wilt bless 

And lead us through the fray ?" 
And yet the answering Heavens respond : 

The prophets are not dead, 
The night is dark, but why despond 

When light is overhead ! 
These words shine through the ebon cope — 

" Go set my people free ! 
Then will I crown the nation's hope 

And give the victory!" 



FLL SING THY GLORY. 



" I'LL SING THY GLORY." 

The breezy Atlantic, 
The booming Pacific, 
Aye sing thee deep anthems 
Calm voiced or terrific ; 
From the lakes of the north, 
And mountains of grandeur, 
To Texan savannas. 
How great is thy splendor ! 
O land of my love and devotion. 

Unfold in the ages 
O empire expanding, 
For the pine and the palm 
Are in thy commanding ! 
The future shall fill thee 
With hundreds of millions. 
The bravest of heroes, 
The boldest civilians ; 
O land of my love and devotion. 

With speed of the lightning 
New steam whirled wonders, 
Through mountain and valley, 
Shall waken the thunders ; 



37 



^3 BABYLON'S FALLEN. 

While the trade of the world — 
The transit of nations, 
From ocean to ocean 
Shall halt in thy stations ; 
O land of my love and devotion. 

Look up, then, my country, 
In grateful thanksgiving, 
Look up through the azure 
To God ever-living; 
For He laid out thy lakes. 
And lifted thy mountains, 
He laved thee with oceans, 
And filled thee with fountain?, 
O land of my love and devotion. 

The above jingle was penned ere this [the late] crue 
war began. If you think that the lines are worthy of "pleas 
ant places," please put them in a corner of your paper. 



"BABYLON'S FALLEN." 

Out of the battle storm, out of the surges 
Of blood and of fire, the nation emerges 

With banners resplendent, 

In glory transcendent : 



RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE FREE LOVERS. ,g 

Jp from the conflict, with demons all frantic, 
^'rom heaving Pacific to booming Atlantic, 

In panoply glorious 

She rises victorious. 

Phe hope of the Brutus, the hope of the ages, 
rhe dream of the seers, the desire of the sages 

Shall come to fruition 

Through mighty volition. 

"rom the lakes of the North to Southern savannas, 
rhe people respond in hearty hosannas; 

For the lightning Eternal, 

Has struck the Infernal. 

J\it of the battle-storm, out of the surges 
3f blood and of fire the nation emerges 

With banners resplendent. 

In glory transcendent. 



RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO THE 
FREE-LOVERS. 

Out with you, dirty devils ; 

Go to the harem'd East, — 
Or where, in Phallic revels, 

The Sepoy is a beast ! 



4° 



THE HOUR HAS STRUCK. 

How dare you, here, in this good land. 
Invoke the name of Jesus ? 

" Go sin no more," was his command ; 
But you assert the thesis 

That all may do as think them best : 
Yea, fools and knaves and dastards, 

May hug new damsels to their breast 
And breed a race of bastards ! 

Out with you, dirty devils ; 

Go to the harem'd East, — 
Or where, in Phallic revels, 

The Sepoy is a beast ! 



THE HOUR HAS STRUCK. 

How sweet the calm September day, 
When Heaven's effulgence came, 

With Abr'am Lincoln's potent words 
To set our souls aflame ! 

Then did our hearts respond, " Amen. 

Haste earth thy shining way ; 
Fly swift along the ecliptic track, 

And bring the happy day." 



THE HOUR HAS STRUCK. 

For Nature waits the human deed, 

Stars Unger to respond, 
Up to the far remotest sphere ; 

Up to the Throne beyond. 

(iod bless the man for faithful speech, 

Glorious vicegerant he ; 
The ages lead him by the hand, 

Where truth makes all men free. 

There he must walk, for golden cords 
Are drawn before him now, 

And at each step the meeting morn 
Sheds radience on his brow. 



Now, bare the arm and bare the blade, 
And say, "Thy will be done ;" 

Then march into the sacred fight, 
A million men as one ! 

For soon the announcing guns will roar, 

The echoes die away ; 
And Freedom's flag dance on the dome 

In Freedom's perfect day. 



41 



42 THE QUEEN OF SONG. 



THE QUEEN OF SONG. 

There are whom Nature teaches, 
To her their souls attend ; 

They mount the lofty reaches 
Where earth and ether blend. 

They walk through mountain azure, 

All robed in halo light, 
Where silence opes her treasure 

Like stars in summer night. 

They hear the morning solos — 
Bird waking bird to song. 

Till all the glens with echoes, 
Rare madigrals prolong. 

Day brings them dainty beauties, 
Eve pours her crimson wine; 

Their every sense acute is, 
Touched with the fire divine. 

Who in their circle dances, 

A living healthy muse? 
Behold her star-eyed glances, 

Her garlands floating loose ! 



GRANT SHALL TAKE THE CHAIR 

Her rustic chaplet shining 
With leaves of northern trees ; 

Around her zone are twining 

Wild flowers, like swarming bees. 

She is the Queen of Nature's song, 

A daisy-loving fairy, 
Bounding with ease the bards among, 

Beloved Alice Carey ! 

^//ca, September 6, i8§g. 



43 



GRANT SHALL TAKE THE CHAIR. 

Did, then, our gallant sailors bleed — 

Our noble soldiers die ? 
And was our flag toin like a weed 

When rebel bolls flew by ? 

Was human gore shed like a flood 

On many a battle plain ? 
And were those streams but mingled mud. 

Libations poured in vain ? 

Did Lincoln free four million slaves. 

Then share a martyr's fate 
That we should yield to traitor knaves 

His glorious chair of State ? 



44 



SONG. 



No ! By the sacred rights of man- 
By Heaven's protecting care, 

We place a patriot in the van, 
And Grant shall take the chair! 



SONG. 



O lave me in Lethe ! for I would forget 
The eyes and the face of fickle Annette ; 
Her arms and white shoulders^ — 

Her curling black hair; 
The seat on the boulders 
By lovely St. Clair. 

The stars were our vouchers ; the lake heard her voice 
When softly she told me that I was her choice ; 
In raptures caressing, 

Elated with bliss, 
Our hearts felt the blessing 
Of kiss claiming kiss. 

Who now is the fond one, usurping the breast ? 
Or is there no crown'd one — her life but a jest ? 
Her face is a glory ; 

Her heart, is it ice ? 

Her love but a story — 

A changing device ? 



HUSH, REFINER, NATURE LISTENS. 

ould but I cannot, no never, forget 
; love that burns in me for fickle Annette ; 
When proud she goes by me, 

And lapsed is my breath ; 
' ris love that defies me 
And will be my death ! 



45 



HUSH, REFINER, NATURE LISTENS !" 

" Well, the old year is skin and bone, 

And wheezy is his gasp, 
As with a fitful mufiled moan. 

He yields to Time's strong grasp." 

"Then go, gaunt year! Come, Fifty-nine, 

With largess in thy hand — 
With juices from the purple vine. 

And plenty to the land." 

But why my friend to him incline ? 

He may unto you bring, 
Not wealth, nor mirth, but deep repine ; 

Then why the New Year sing ? 



^6 HUSH, REFINER, NATURE LISTENS. 

There's Fifty-Eight gone down the vale, 
And heedless of your snarl : 

Then tell the whole, not half his tale ; 
r faith he was no carle. 

What tho' to you he brought a ban, 

Full many he did bless : 
Sometimes the stars look dim and wan, 

Yet bright they shine nathless. 

And what are you, or what am I 

Within the realm of Fate? 
Though fleeting sunshine pass us by, 

Great Nature is elate ! 

'Tis by a calm we gauge a storm, 

An<l love reverses ruth: 
Did not untruth our natures harm, 

There would be then no truth. 

For 'tis by contrast that we learn 

The evil, the divine ; 
Then from the dead year silent turn. 

And meet young Fifty- Nine ! 



LINES SUGOEtiTED BY DEATH OF G. S. D.4NA, ESQ. 

LINES 
SUGGESTED BY THE DEATH OF G. S. DANA, ESQ. 

Art gone, O iriend, to sleep with those 

Whom Nature folds in long repose ? 

Art gone, dear friend, up through the spheres, 

To live the long immortal years ? 

Thy love and life an image left 

That death from us has not bereft ; 

And as we scan the radiant night, 

Each star will bring thee to our sight. 

The dust, we lay in yonder slope, 

And for the clod there is no hope ; 

But there are bowers above the tomb, 

Bright flowers that shed a sweet perfume, 

And trees whose golden sunbeams play. 

Birds answering birds in roundelay — 

While over all leans June's blue dome, 

Where beckoning angels called thee home. 

Hope grown to faith, knows that thy rest 

Is there with God and with the blest. 

'Tis meet we shed a parting tear, 

That thou hast ceased to journey here — 

'Twere best thy life to imitate, 

As here we travel to our fate. 



47 



ITALY. 



ITALY. 



Dear land of old light, 

Is this thy red morning? 
And fled thy long night 

Like mist from the mountains? 
O can it then be 

That thou art a champion, 
Full mailed, cap a-pie, 

Heroic, triumphant ? 

Who hate thee, Italia, 

A curse on them fall ! 
Or Austrian, or Russian, 

Earth swallow them all ! 
Who yields thee his service, 

His life, or his death. 
Gives homage to Heaven, 

Pure as a babe's breath. 

Two kings go before thee — 

Two captains renowned — 
Garibaldi, the man. 

And Victor the crowned. 
God save them and keep them 

Through Freedom's campaign, 
Till from Etna to Alp 

No tyrant shall reign. 



CONJUGAL. 



49 



CONJUGAL. 

My charming , the ruddy tide 

Runs rapid in my breast, 
As I draw close to thy dear side, 

And feel that I am blest. 

What tho' the silver streaks our hair, 

We live in golden days ; 
Each morn to us will beauties bear. 

And blessings bring always. 

For we glide down the course of life 
Close by the southern shore, 

And thus avoid the mid-stream strife. 
Where angry waters roar. 

When storms arise, we quickly urge 

Our boat into a bay, 
There safely float, despite the surge 

That round the headlands play. 

Oft times in calm, 'neath sun or stars, 

We seek some bowered nook ; 
Where lilies lift their purple spars, 
• Close by an entering brook. 

D 



5° 



LABRA. 

Sometimes we clamber rugged banks, 

To view the heights above ; 
There give to Heaven our hearty thanks. 

For knowledge, and for love. 

But fate decrees we sail the streams, 

So down our journey tends 
To where eternal morning beams 

With love that never ends. 



LABRA. 



" Give me a rebus," Clara said, 
" For I am quick at guessing." 

I kissed her twice; shethump'd my head, 
And spurned my warm caressing. 

" Hold up !" I cried, " you ruffled wren, 
My deed needs no discussing ; 

I kissed you once, and then again, 
Was not the last /^-bussing?" 



AN OLD FELLOWS VALENTINE. 



51 



AN OLD FELLOW'S VALENTINE. 

Dear Nan ! They talk of blissful spheres, 

Beyond the earth and sun, 
Where we may live immortal years, 

When Time's brief course is run. 

They teach us to despise the earth. 
The dear, green earth so grand, 

Where sacred sorrow, love and mirth 
Are sisters hand in hand ; 

Our lovely world, where land and sea 
Are kissed by sun and moon, 

Where morning laughs on lake and lea, 
And splendor comes at noon ; 

Where evening waits for queenly night 

To come with all her stars — 
Her radiant robe aglow with light 

From flashing boreal bars. 

Sure Heaven is here, when summer comes 

To glad the golden year. 
And every dappled meadow hums 

With music we should hear ; 



52 



JOCUND HEALTH. 

While mountains chant and valleys sing, 

All nature keeping time, 
If we our wayward senses bring 

To hear the lusty rhyme. 

Dear Nan ! 'Tis Heaven around, above, 

Whatever skies incline. 
If I but live with thee, my love. 

And am thy Valentine ! 



JOCUND HEALTH. 

A wealth of yellow, dancing curls 
Play o'er my Minnie's head, 

Like to a race of giddy whirls 
Along at>rooklet sped. 

Her eyes are blue as heaven's own hue ; 

Stars, too, within them shine. 
Sparkling like beads of morning dew 

Upon a clustered vine. 



JOCUND HEALTH. 

Her nectar cheek, and dimple chin, 

Provoke us all to kiss ; 
Yet little thinks the laughing Min 

Of our exquisite bliss. 

Free as a zephyr is the child, 

To laugh, to leap, to run, — 
To ramble through the grasses wild, 

Or tumble 'neath the &un. 

Like sun kist pippins gleam her knees, 

As o'er and o'er she rolls ; 
Or straining round the apple trees, 

She strives to climb the boles. 

Life glows through her with ruddy light, 
Health supples frame and limb, 

And fills her with a wild delight, 
Aye, bubbling to the brim. 

She is to us, a morning song — 
A noon and evening hymn — 

A God- sent bird, the flowers among 
Singing sweet praise to Him. 



53 



54 



SOMETHING HATCHED OUT. 



SOMETHING HATCHED OUT. 



BY A CELESTIAL SHANGHAI. 



Among the spiritual luminaries of the present day ther 
is one bright star, a Mrs. Hatch, who protests that her sou 
is "lighted by glory from on high," and that in trance sh 
is impelled to speak with the tongues of defunct saints an( 
sages and to utter " amended wisdom." She has mad 
her appearance here in Utica with the flourish of a '"prima 
donna." Her charms, her age, her dress, etc., are all ad 
vertised in newspapers and on showbills, while, as tli 
scribbler of the subjoined happens to know, her husban( 
writes notices, purporting to come from our citizens, set 
ting forth her powers and mission, for which lie pays si 
much per line as advertisements in the papers. Th 
quoted allusions in the stanzas are taken from the sait 
paid communications. 

The gates of heaven were left ajar 

By the goddess of the morning, 
The latch was up and down the bar : 
" Good !" quoth a bright. particular star, 

" No more the spheres adorning, 
I'Jl slope below."' 

Then bouncing into a golden cab, 
Soon passed the bridge celestial, 
Careering by the old Queen Mab, 
She called the witch a "dirty drab," 
Then lighted on terrestrial, 
And here she is ! 



SOMETHING HATCHED OUT. 

If Guide's gal had closed the latch, 

We ne'er had glimpsed the "new divinity''— 
This donna of a dubious batch, 
The world renowned Mrs. Hatch, 
Her flaxen curls and dimity, 
In this here sphere. 

Good news for gapers— lo! she comes. 

With eye and tongue prophetic. 
To smash the lore of ancient tomes, 
To talk of spheres, and thrones, and domes. 
And do up the pathetic — 

" Come all and query !" 

Come lawyer, client, squire and priest — 

But do not crowd nor josde — 
Come from the North, the South, the East, 
There's leaven enough, or rather yeast, 

Poured by the "Young Apostle," 
To raise you all ; — 

To raise you up some half score spheres. 

High o'er old Jacob's Ladder, 
Above the vale of groans and tears. 
Until a noise rings in your ears. 

And your head feels like a bladder, 
Well nigh busted. 

I wonder how much it cost per line. 

Inserted in the Observer, 
How Willis discovered the "new divine," 



55 



56 



SOMETHING HATCHED OUT. 

How fair her face — how she did shine — 
How terrible was the fervor 
In New York City. 

" Just seventeen years," — That story's old; 

" Her beauty is absorbing." 
In the same notice it is told, 
" Her flights are lofty, graceful, bold :" 

I s'pose that's when she's orbing 
Or shooting stars. 

All Gotham went in seething crowds, 

Policeman and politician. 
Uncertain belles and ancient dowds, — 
All soared beyond the reach of clouds. 

Led off by the " Logician," 
" The ethereal." 

And now she favors our good town 
With sing-song prayer and vision ; 

Will box with Cox, and confound Brown, 

Set up a post to knock it down, 
Make railways to the Elysian, 
The spherical. 

Besides, it is not her who talks — 

Old Plato's the colloquial, 
While Socrates the sombre, stalks, 
And chalks the rope Anacreon walks; 

Bacon is ventriloquial. 

Poor Verulam ! 



SOMETHING HATCHED OJT. 

So come in earnest, not in joke, 

A question ask igneous, 
How many yards of condensed smoke 
Into a bushel can you poke, 

Or acid pyroligneous. 
Or creosote ? 

What was the compound called Black Broth, 
Gulped down by greedy Grecians 'i 

Who first invented tissue cloth ? 

Did Eve or Adam first plight troth ? 
Whence came the proud Phoenicians ? 
Who was Jason ? 

A hundred questions you can ax — 
A dime and a half the pittance — 
Just see how trifling is the tax, 
Unless your pocket that sum lacks, 
To gain you an admittance. 
To hear the angels! 

Perchance an evil ghost may come 

And make her his reflector. 
He's every chance the fools to gum. 
While to his nose he claps his thumb : 
McDonough sells no Detecter 
For bogus spooks. 

Eggs-actly. 



57 



TRENTON FALLS. 



TRENTON FALLS. 



A RHAPSODY. 



Thy sylvan echoes, Kauyahoora, 

And salvos of thy roaring cataracts, 

Thy whelming waters, scooping deep cauldrons 

Wherein to seethe and surge on earth's foundations 

The myriad elemental voices all 

With loud acclaim thine ancient name recall. 

Fit name, mellifluent and descriptive. 

By hunter of the primal woods first given. 

Who with amaze thy raging torrents heard ; 

And as he viewed thy " leaping waters" 

From shelvy rock, he sent a shout baptismal, 

That clown the steep did echo — "Kauyahoora !" 

Wondrous ravine ! The lone enthusiast, 

(Fresh from Niagara's thundrous booming, 

The sound still rumbling in my willing ear 

Like ocean's roar heard in the moaning conch,) 

I view enwrapt thy ranging cascades 

And foaming floods, thine Arethusan beauty, 

Behold with awe the white-helmed squadrons 

Mounting from cavern to crag, or rushing 

O'er rocky ramparts; now down the precipice 



CARPE DIEM. 

:y charge with cloudy banners streaming ; 

)n in narrowing chasm close compressed, 

ft gliding like troop of huge constrictors ; 

.V on the marge in mighty strength amain 

;y raise their crests for final leap ; 

:n with loud roar they urge aloft 

unlit spray up to the beetling cliffs, 

ere blue hare bell its trembling petal opes 

bathe in rainbow radiance. 

iiple of Nature ! Time tessellates thy halls, 

irs on thy floods majestic altars, 

)rns thy walls with arch and pediment 

ereon the lofty swaying pines do stand, 

igling their wind woke symphonies 

h thy God praising anthem, " Kauyahoora." 



59 



CARPE DIEM. 

Come, drink the wine of life with me 

Until your bosom thrills ; 
For like a dream of fantasie 

Now sleep the distant hills. 

Cloud argosies are in the sky, 
Of loveliest shape and hue; 

There is no breeze to urge them by. 
They bask within the blue. 



6o CARPE DIEM. 

See how the shadows haunt each steep, 

Dark as the leafless woods, 
O'er A^hich in stealth they seem to creep, 

Like love's alternate moods. 

Let you and I now thither wend. 

For sure some asters stay, 
Down in the glens, where brooklets lend 

Their music to the day : 

This affluent November day, 

That shows the whole campaign. 

Till field and cot and mounds of hay, 
The upland winding wain, 

And every object in the scene 

Is open to our view ; 
While over all a cope serene, 

Like June's resplendent blue. 

Come, drink the wine of life with me. 

Glad Nature holds the cup ; 
'Tis crystal clear, and we can see ( 

Bright sparkles bubbling up. . 

Nov. i6, i860. ? 



I 



CHEMISTRY OF THE SUNBEAM. 6 1 



CHEMISTRY OF THE SUNBEAM. 

uggested by Prof. Youman's lecture last evening, before 
Mechanics' Association. 

^oumans, thou hast the key wherewith to ope 
rhe lich stores of Nature, and can'st display 
Her hidden germs— her ordered methods ; 
In oral lessons, with point and emphasis 
Clear, as the silv'ry tones that rang of old 
Within the Porch, or through sweet Tempe'svale. 
'Tis thine through space, to trace the unfoldings 
Of that momentous power, celestial, 
Which moves an atom or a planet moulds. 
Taught by thee, we see the genial sunbeam, 
Earth-slanting, touch with prismatic fingers, 
The quiv'iing blade or leaf, and thus impart 
A vital force, resistless in its cycle 
As an orb passed from the right hand of God. 



62 TWILIGHT HOUR. 



The following lines are from the prosaico-poetic stj'le c 
Disraeli. Many more might be culled, from his Orienta 
tale of Alroy, and as easily arranged to something lik 
rhythm and rhyme. D. B, 

It is the tender twilight hour, 
When maidens in their lonely bower, 

Sigh softer than the eve. 
The languid rose her head upraises. 
And listens to the nightingale, 
W^hile his wild and thrilling praises 

From his trembling bosom gush ! 
The languid rose her head upraises, 

And listens with a blush. 

In the clear and rosy air, 
Sparkling with a single star. 
The sharp and spiry cypress tree 

Rises like a gloomy thought 
Amid the flow of revelry. 

A singing bird, a single star, 
A solemn tree, an odorous floiver, 
Are dangerous in the tender hour, 
When maidens in their twilight bovver 
Sigh softer than the eve ! 



WHAT IS SHE LIKE f 



63 



WHAT IS SHE LIKE? 

I. 
A thorough Barb, an Arab's prize, 

A beautiful gazelle ; 
A graceful fawn, with lustrous eyes, 

Is my dear Isabel. 

II. 
The light of morn shines in her face. 

On her rich lip the dew ; 
Her neck is like a Phidian vase ; 

Her eyes a radiant blue. 

III. 
Down her white brow bright love-locks creep, 

To pass her pearl like ears ; 
Then down in wavy masses sweep, 

Free as the Belvidere's. 

IV. 

In her fair form three graces blend — 

Or rather, in her soul — 
Love, Patience, Hope — these ever bend 

All things to her control. 



6 4 ^^^HA T IS LO VE LIKE ? 



" WHAT IS LOVE LIKE ?" 

'Tis like the breath of early morn, 

That bends the rose with dappled dew, 

When wafted odors, silent borne, 
Do wake the sense and soul anew. 

'Tis like that sweet and mellow hour, 
'Twixt setting sun and rising moon ; 

When summer, with a gorgeous dower. 
Fills the last eve of glowing June. 

Tis felt, what time the full-zoned queen 
Serenely walks the fields of night, 

The zenith sweeping with her sheen. 
The rolling world bathed in her light. 

'Tis felt when I sit by thy side. 

And hours like swift-winged song birds flee; 
" Oh! what is love?" you ask, my bride — 

Love is a scepter swayed by thee. 



OCTOBER. 



OCTOBER. 



6S 



Come home, my wife, my darling: 
I long to have you here 

Ere all our garden beauties 
Go with the waning year. 

The aster heads are drooping, 
The larkspur leaves are sere, 

So, too, the climbing apios — 
A plant you hold most dear. 

Our larch is dropping her needles 
Down on the pansy bed ; 

The maples glow in golden. 
While some are flaming red. 

White frost has nipped the balsam 
And made the vine leaves fall. 

Yet oh, what stores of purple 
Are clustered on the wall. 

A pink rose I have sheltered. 

It is the last of all ; 
A sheldon I have gathered 

Looks like a golden ball. 

The rose and pear are waiting 
The touch of thy fair hand. 

To come and taste their sweetness 
Ere winter rules the land. 



66 THE COCKNEY. 

Last eve I heard the robins 
In parley on the eaves, 

They talked of warm savannas 
Where fall no autumn leaves. 

Come, then, dear gentle mother, 
Though summer blooms are dead 

And birds that blest the morning 
To softer climes are fled. 

There dwells within our cottage 
The children of our love, 

Whose songs will soar to Heaven 
J fled by thee, my dove. 

*B hortensis. 



THE COCKNEY. 



BY JOHN G. SAXE. 



It was in my foreign travel, 

At a famous Flemish inn, 
That I met a stoutish person 

With a very ruddy skin ; 
And his hair was something sandy, 

And was done in knotty curls, 
And was parted in the middle. 

In the manner of a girl's. 



THE COCKNEY. 

He was clad in chequered trousers, 

And his coat was of a sort 
To suggest a scanty pattern, 

It was bobbed so very short ; 
And his cap was very little, 

Such as soldiers often use ; 
And he wore a pair of gaiters,. 

And extremely heavy shoes. 

I addressed the man in English, 

And he answered in the same, 
Though he spoke it in a fashion 

That I thought a little lame; 
For the aspirant was missing 

Where the letter should have been. 
But where'er it wasn't wanted, 

He was sure to put it in ! 

When I spoke with admiration 

Of St. Peter's mighty dome, 
He remarked : — " 'Tis really nothing 

To the sights we 'ave at 'ome !" 
And declared upon his honor, — 

Though of course, 'twas very queer,- 
That he doubted if the Romans 

'Ad the //art of making beer! 



67 



58 THE COCKNEY. 

Then we talked of other countries, 

And he said that he had heard 
That Hamericans spoke Hinglish, 

But he deemed it quite //absurd ; 
Yet he felt the deepest //interest 

In the missionary work. 
And would like to know if Georgia 

Was in Boston or New York ! 

When I left the man in gaiters, 

He was grumbling o'er his gin, 
At the charges of the hostess 

Of that famous Flemish inn ; 
And he looked a very Briton, 

(So, methinks, I see him still,) 
As he pocketed the candle 

That was mentioned in the bill. 



TRANSPOSITION BY D. B. 

It was in my foreign travel. 

At a famous Flemish inn. 
That I met a tallish person 

With a very sallow skin ; 
And his hair was somewhat lanky. 

And was done in greasy twirls, 
And it curved more like a fiddle 

Than like knobby Saxon curls. 



THE COCKNEY. 

He was clad in baggy trousers, 

And the coat upon his back, 
As he had no taste for pattern, 

So he chose to have it black ; 
And his hat, a slouchy brimmer, 

Such as sailors often wear. 
And his boots, a rusty brindle-^ 

They intruded on my chair. 

I addressed the man in English, 
And he answered in the same. 

Though he spoke it in a fashion 
That I thought a little lame ; 

For the ultimate was shortened 
Where the letter should have been, 

And where'er it was not wanted, 
He was sure to put it in. 

When I spoke in admiration 

Of the vineyaids on the Rhine, 
He remarked : "That a//r ain't nothin 

This he drawled with nasal whine. 
" We have gard/;/§i' near to Bosti/ig 

That'// beat the Dutchmen here, 
Who, sir, really don't know noth/// 

But to brew their lager beer." 



69 



70 



THTS MORNING— MARCH 27, 1868. 

Then we talked of other matters 

And " he guessed, from what he heerd 
Some Britishers were genV<fmen," 

And he said, " Sir, here's my keerd," 
Then added, " I'm interested 

In some stocks an pubHc works, 
An am goin up the Bosph'rus, 

For to skin the tarnal Turks." 

When I left the man-in-trousers. 

He was grumbling o'er his grog. 
And disputing the Dutch hostess — 

He was "^oi'n the whole hog !" 
And he looked a very Yankee. 

(So, methinks, I see him still,) 
As the woman said " Ich Dankee," 

And "the man, " gol darn your bill !" 



THIS MORNING— MARCH 27, 1868. 

As kindling she blushes 

For earth's bridal kiss; 
And robin he gushes 

To sing of the bliss : 



DISCOVERED. 

I forget that 'tis March, 
So soft, and serene 

Is the beautiful arch 

That blendeth the scene, 

A star of the morning 

Is wailing to see 
The nuptial adorning, 

The grandeur and glee : 

Ere she joins in her place. 
The chorus of love 

That is heard in all space, 
Below and above. 



71 



DISCOVERED. 

And now I know the mighty muse 

Did but disclose to me 
A reflex of her radiant form, 

Like star-gleams on the sea ; 

Or moonlight through the drifting clouds, 

Mistaken for a ray 
Direct from that resplendent orb 

Our wheeling worlds obey. 



72 



DISCOVERED. 

Sometimes she came, as Luna did, 

Veiled in a filmy haze, 
To fade away in darkening mist 

Beyond Endymion's gaze ; 

And then it was a feeble light 

Would glimmer through my brain, 

With foolish dreams of lofty heights 
The gods alone attain. 

Illusive light, deluding dreams, 

Vain visions every one, 
Now gone away, like phantom forms, 

Before the rising sun : 

For in good time there came a muse, 
Sweet as the morning bright, 

Where June bestrews our Northern hills 
With pearls and rosy light. 

Nor did she come from Helicon, 

But from an English lea ; 
No plaint or scorn upon her lip, 

No droning prophecy ; 

Plain trutli and love, with patient hope, 

Beam from her face divine. 
While grace beyond Castilian nymph 

Adorns this muse of mine. 



SEPTEMBER SUNSET. 



73 



SEPTEMBER SUNSET. 

Are not the hills that bound our sight 
Lap'd in a gorgeous dream ? 

Athwart them floats a flood of light, 
In one long saffron stream. 

With mellow rays, the sinking sun ' 
Shines through the forests deep ; 

While o'er clear uplands, green, or dun, 
Fast lengthening shadows sweep. 

The trees are tinged with changing hues 

Of purple, gold and rose ; 
With these such heavenly beams infuse 

That all the landscape glows: 

Glows with a glory only known 

Within this lovely clime ; 
No sky or land has ever shown 

A splendor more sublime. 

Then pause, O day, and picture brief. 

But fulgent as the spheres ! 
For few such scenes, in rare relief, 

Greet our fast fleeting years. 



74 



SEPTEMBER SUNSET. 

But no! the sun, with downward verge, 

Smiles on the loftiest height ; 
And soon must sink below our marge. 

Far lands and seas to light. 

The shrouded glens now seem more deep, 
And mounds increase in size; 

While darkness climbs from steep to steep 
And soon will scale the skies. 

The Mohawk sings with clearer tone ; 

Home wending cattle low ; 
Yon black crow sails the air alone ; 

And trembling bats flit slow. 

The village clangors now are still, 

Yet echo answers sweet, 
To voices clear and laughter shrill 

Of children as they meet. 

The hills are blank, stars twinkle down 

And woo the world to rest ; 
Night presses close yon halo crown 

That lingers in the West, 



MOONLIGHT. 



MOONLIGHT. 



75 



O Mary, dear Mary ! 

O why dost thou stay, 
When moon-beams are dancing 

All over the bay ? 

Our boat she is dipping 
Her bows to the way, 

As bends a fleet beagle 
His neck for the fray. 

This night is a vision 

Of beauty and balm ; 
The south sends her zephyrs 

That sing of the palm. 

Adovvn the old mountain, 
Dian takes her march ; 

Aglow is the forest 
From maple to larch. 

O come, then, my dearest, 
Our boat we will urge 

Up through the blue lilies. 
Where brook and bay merge. 

Why, love, dost thou linger, 
While nature, in tune, 

Awaits thee with roses 
Beneath the full moon ? 



7 5 LINES ON THE DEATH OF MRS. ERASTUS CLARK. 



LINES 
ON THE DEATH OF MRS. ERASTUS CLARK. 

O, ever-blessed sister, saint ; 

We bear her to the tomb, 
'Mid sanctities of solemn plaint 

And deep funereal gloom. 

And as we gently raise the bier, 
That holds our lifeless trust, 

We feel 'tis sacred to be near 
The consecrated dust. 

For she was holy in her life. 
While genius was her dower. 

Held for the duties of a wife — 
A mother's gentle power. 

And yet all know how love and grace 

Were like a hallowed light, 
When beaming from that radiant lace 

Now hidden from our sight. 

Therefore, O ! ever blessed saint. 

We bear thee to the tomb, 
While praise is mingled with our plaint 

And hope dispels our gloom. 



ON AN ENGLKH PRIMROSE. 



77 



ON AN ENGLISH PRIMROSE. 

I. 
How sweet thou art, my darling flower, 

How sweet thou art to me ; 
I feel thy mild but mighty power 

O'er soul and senses free. 



A power that covers time and space, 

And bears me to the dells 
Where myriads of thy kindred grace 

The fields and rocky fells 

III. 
Where March winds blow in softer gales 

To stir the yellow frills, 
And waft the odors from the vales 

Far up the Mendip hills. 

IV. 

There have I seen, in clump and file, 

My primrose all aglow, 
By tufted mound and mossy pile, 

Where English violets grow. 

Ltrc 



78 



BUTLER MEMORIAL HALL. 
V. 

How sweet thou art, my darling flower, 
How sweet thou art to me; 

I feel thy mild but mighty power 
O'er soul and senses free. 



BUTLER MEMORIAL HALL. 

May 13th, 1890. was an important day in the history oJ 
New Hartford, it having been selected as the occasion lor 
opening the Butler Memorial Hall. In honor of the event 
the village was elaborately decorated with the national 
colors and everyone seemed to be in his best mood. For- 
malit)' was banished and stranger greeted stranger with a 
hearty hand-shake and cordial smile. Everyone, from the 
members of the rising generation to the oldest inhabitant, 
was out, each dressed in his best suit of clothes. Good 
feeling and harmony prevailed, and all seemed intent upon 
showing their appreciation of the magnanimity of New 
Hartford's benefactor, Morgan Butler. 

Daniel Batchelor was called upon and expressed his 
thoughts in the following poem: 

IN THE BUTLER MEMORIAL HALL. 

An aged man who to the last 

Is eager heaping gold, 
That heirs may squander very fast 

When he is low and cold, 



BUTLER MEMORIAL HALL. >jg 

Has led a life p>erchance distraught 

In striving for the pelf 
He vainly hoards, as if he thought 

The whole was for himself. 

But here's a man of nobler mold, 

A native of this dale; 
Eighty-four years have not made old 

Our patriot stout and hale. 

Courage and force are with him yet, 

Cheerful his voice and strong, 
His eyes are bright as sparkling jet. 

Well can he pace along. 

He looks like one in mid-career, 

Whom time does gently touch, 
Only to whisper in his ear, 

'•Thou must not toil too much." 

Now our dear friend this mansion prime 

Gives to the people free, 
For civic meeting, festal time, 

Or what good cause there be. 

Kind Heaven to him the talent gave 

That made the structure rise; 
And surely 'tis a building brave, 

Unto the town a prize. 



3o BUTLER MEMORIAL HALL. 

Good health to him for many a day, 
So pray we one and all, 

That children, yet unborn, may say 
" He built the Butler Hall." 



L. V. Childs cfe Son's Print, Utica. 



LhAp'09 



